


Bedroom Hymns

by pixie_rings



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Body Worship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every now and again, though, Jack longs for the thrill of ownership, and Aster wishes to belong. Jack wants to slake his thirst and give Aster’s body all the worship it so rightfully deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedroom Hymns

**Author's Note:**

> *Shamelessly uses Florence + the Machine as a fic title*

Sometimes, Jack likes to take the reins.

Not top, no, never top. He doesn’t enjoy even the thought of it. Jack is a born bottom: what he wants – _needs_ , _hungers_ for – is Aster in him, hot and hard and filling him, tipping him over the edge from pleasure to ecstasy. And he is more than satisfied with that, but that doesn’t mean he can’t take when he wants. It doesn’t mean he can’t hold down and _own_. And knowing Aster could easily turn the tables, flip him over and have his way, but chooses not to? It only makes it all the more gratifying.

It doesn’t happen often. What Jack loves most is being taken, bitten, branded with purples and reds that growl ‘mine’ all over his pale skin. He likes the ache of bruises and the limp of the morning after. What Aster loves most is to own, to have and devour, possessive in his scratches and bites and rough thrusts. Who they are in bed is inverted colours to who they really are, for out of the bedroom Jack is anything but submissive, and Aster is anything but rough.

Every now and again, though, Jack longs for the thrill of ownership, and Aster wishes to belong. Jack wants to slake his thirst and give Aster’s body all the worship it so rightfully deserves.

Jack loves how Aster’s body moves when they’re like this. How firmly his muscles stand out, how taut and delicious his dark skin is. How he groans, gravel that scrapes over Jack’s flesh, when Jack teases him. Because Jack is a tease, a terrible, _terrible_ tease, as in everything he does. When Jack takes the lead, it’s a reflection of who is outside the four hallowed walls.

He starts at the top and works his way down. He kisses until Aster’s lips are swollen, bites and tugs at his lips and sucks at his tongue until Aster’s reeling with it, fingers twitching, longing to touch, but they can’t. That’s the game, he has to keep his hands to himself, no touching until Jack allows it. Jack nips at his chin, rubs his cheek against Aster’s just to feel the scrape of his stubble and sideburns (Aster already knows how much Jack likes that, all over him, on creamy thighs and pale stomach – they know each other by heart, like a favourite poem, the prose of a well-thumbed book). He nibbles and sucks at Aster’s earlobes before licking his way down, along a thudding pulse, his bites as gentle as Aster’s are hard.

It’s only when he reaches the other’s Adam’s apple that Jack allows his hands out to play as well. He spreads his palms across Aster’s forearms, feeling the dark hairs. He slides them up, over hard biceps. He fancies he can feel the design of his tattoos, like the ink is raised, embossed flesh. He rakes his nails down, hard enough to make Aster grunt, before sliding up again, over the collarbone. He lets his tongue dip where clavicles meet while his hands glide over soft-hard curves of pectoral muscle, all packed sinew and the wet dream of anyone who’s ever cast the male body an appreciative gaze.

Those hands leave again, Aster huffs at the loss, but his disappointment turns to a gasp when Jack’s mouth finds his nipple. He shivers at the way Jack’s tongue skirts around it, raising goose bumps on darker skin. Teeth graze it, enclose around it, tug gently, then hot lips soothe with an obscene suck, long and intense until it’s pebble-hard. Jack moves to the other, repeats the motions, only with the added torture of a flicking finger, a touch light enough to make Aster almost whimper. Almost – Aster doesn’t make such undignified sounds (at least, he _hopes_ he doesn’t).

Jack hums his approval and continues his descent. He loves to see Aster so undone, undone because of _him_. He revels in the silent pleas in every angle of Aster’s body, the beads of sweat at his temples and the taste of pure, undiluted desire, thick on the air in their bedroom. It’s inebriating.

He skims his mouth over washboard abs, biting the hard ridges with pearly-white teeth, knowing them and loving them. His thumbs head to the dips of Aster’s hips – they fit there perfectly. He rubs slow circles, his nose bumping and lips twisting over compact muscle.

“I could bounce a quarter on your abs,” he says, the first thing he’s said, and not without a mixture of awe and pride. His voice adds whole new layers to his words: ‘look at this man, he’s _mine_ , how could something so amazing actually be _mine_?’ (not that Aster thinks he’s amazing, quite the opposite, he’s humbled by the open and devout appreciation Jack is offering). Aster’s cheeks turn pink, he huffs, and Jack laughs, bright and in love and lust and Aster falls a little deeper, and if that’s not proof this is lovemaking, not just sex, he isn’t sure what could be.

But then Jack returns to his ministrations, moving ever closer to his final goal, and Aster is growing impatient. While Jack has been lavishing attention all over the rest of him, Aster’s cock has been woefully neglected. He’s hard as a rock, and with every touch and kiss he leaks across Jack’s chest. But only now Jack reaches his navel, tongue dipping again and reaching the line of dark hair that heads south from there. He nibbles at it, a trail leading to pure heat and desire, nuzzling lower.

He pauses, takes a long, deep breath. Aster’s scent is heady, intoxicating, a heavy, hot musk that makes Jack tremble. Precome smears his cheek, he buries his nose in dark curls, his nails dig into Aster’s thighs, and he feels painfully _empty_.

But first, he has to taste.

He leans up on his elbows and takes a moment, to steady himself and enjoy the view unrepentantly. Plains of dark sinew, closed eyes, a tooth-worried lip, gentle trembling. And it’s all his. Aster’s all _his_. He’s not going to question the motives of whatever higher being chose to let him have this, lest his curiosity be taken for ingratitude and his luck run out, but he’s definitely going to sacrifice a few oxen on _that_ altar.

His eyes rake lower, to the point of arrival. He circles it with his fingers, feels the heat through his palm and chuckles at Aster’s broken hiss. Aster’s smooth in his hand, long, thick, and, dear God, simply _perfect_ , as cocks go. Jack lowers his head, pulls back the other’s foreskin and flicks out his tongue. And Aster, who’s been such a good boy up until now, keeping so still, arches violently, a snap of his back that makes Jack wince, with a loud groan of pent-up want. Jack enjoys the moment, and the reaction, reaches down and licks again, his hand around the base as he traces the underside with his tongue and sucks gently on the base, maddeningly gently, and Aster’s gasping for it.

Jack would gladly torment him all night, bring him to the brink and then push him back, like Aster likes to do to him, but he wants this glorious cock _inside him_. Fortunately he had the foresight to prep beforehand, hole already slick and open and practically throbbing for it. He reaches for the lube, warms it on his fingers and gives Aster a quick coating. 

He raises himself up, onto his knees, and straddles his lover. Aster’s cock nestles in his cleft and he rocks back, enough to make the other man choke on his own breath, and Jack’s head spins a little, breath hitching.

“Want you _so_ bad,” Jack whimpers. His own cock twitches with anticipation, eagerly awaiting the moment. Aster opens his eyes then, a green so dark Jack doesn’t have a name for it, nothing but a ring around blow pupils, and the look he gives Jack is enough to snatch his breath away and colour his cheeks. To be looked at with such raw hunger is nothing short of humbling.

“Christ, I need you,” Aster rasps, fingers twitching at his sides. Jack realises he can’t wait any longer. Fumbling, almost toppling over in his haste, he reaches back, grasps Aster and raises himself up.

His back arches when he lowers himself back down, slowly taking every inch of Aster’s generous length inside him. Aster’s groan colours the air around them, he bends his knees to meet Jack halfway, buried as far as he can go. Jack settles, flush against Aster, takes deep breaths through his nose, adjusting to the magnificent sensation of Aster inside him. He trembles as he lets his body make the pace, reaching for Aster’s hands, and pressing them to him, sternum-height, sweet, hot relief. Aster moans at that, lets his hands wanders like a blind man’s, taking in every angle and contour with his fingertips and his palms. Jack rises again, keening at the bereavement, then plunges back down.

They fuck hard, Aster’s hips snapping up as Jack drives himself down, a perfect symphony of bodies born from instinct and knowledge of each other. It's a rush, a steady, potent, breathtaking rush, this tidal wave of pleasure as they come together. Aster's thrusts are powerful, born of pure muscle power, hard and fast and _everything_ Jack needs, everything that makes his head spin and his body turn to flashing nerves. For his part, Jack gives back as well as he can, head tossed back as he moans, Aster's name, encouragements, curses and prayers, anything that flashes through his brain as it melts, unable to think of anything but _more now dammit give it to me oh God_.

Large, dark hands slip around his cock, Jack lowers his head and opens his eyes. Cheeks flushed with exertion, panting from between slick lips, eyes blue and dark, Aster surges up and wraps his arms around him. His thrusts become erratic, sloppy, the angle awkward but still so good. Jack's arms wind around Aster's shoulders, his nails dig into his skin, he presses their lips together, licks, sucks, feeds the other with groans. Aster's hand moves between them, stripping him, making him shiver with it, speedily and steadily driving him towards the glorious brink.

Jack comes first with a strangled cry of Aster's name, blurted against familiar lips, fingers driven into the nape of Aster's neck, whole body a trembling cacophony of sheer bliss. Aster's hands hold his thighs tight, hold him still, strong and sure, and he takes his fill, once, twice, three times more, until he too is coming. Jack moans, clenching, and Aster groans along with him. There is a moment, a pinprick of shared delight, before the high comes crashing down. Aster softens, slips out, and flops back onto the bed, bringing Jack with him.

Jack settles, sticky and sated, nuzzling at Aster's chin, breathing in the scent of shared sex on his skin. He loves how Aster smells, how he tastes, his textures and his contours and just... everything. A strong hand slides down his back, cups his ass, squeezes gently.

“Christ, I love you,” Aster murmurs, tilting his head down to kiss Jack. Jack replies with a hum, the kiss languid, tell-tale post-coital laziness.

“Love you too,” he mutters when they part, his brain fuzzy and his body feeling blurred at the edges. He got so lucky, he thinks, tracing Aster's jawline with a finger. Aster loops his arms around Jack, hands loosely clasped at the small of his back. Jack feels safe like this, secure, loved and wanted.

He listens to the comfortable quiet, hears the change in Aster's breathing, the muted hitch from awake to asleep, and Jack follows soon after, everything back to how it usually is, in rest.


End file.
